


just adolescents, you and i

by weirwoodnet



Series: just adolescents, you and i [1]
Category: Batman - All Media Types, Super Sons (Comics), Superman - All Media Types
Genre: Coming Out, Coming of Age, First Kiss, First Love, Jon and Damian are fashion disasters, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-14
Updated: 2019-04-14
Packaged: 2020-01-13 12:19:29
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,635
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18468835
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/weirwoodnet/pseuds/weirwoodnet
Summary: He’d always prided himself on his detective skills, but trying to anticipate Jon’s reaction were he to admit to all of this was...troubling. He’d never dare to mention it, not without risking the other boy hearing his change in heartbeat, noticing him sweat and squirm in a manner completely uncharacteristic of, well, himself. Better to keep it professional. Focus on the mission, keep some distance between them until the rush of hormones in his teenage body stopped betraying him.And yet...Damian swiped his phone unlocked before he could talk himself out of it.J: What r u up 2 rn????





	just adolescents, you and i

**Author's Note:**

> Jon and Damian are both 14 in this universe, which is a mix of elements from various different continuities.

     The vibration of his phone drew Damian’s attention away from his comic book faster than he would’ve liked. Lying flat on his back in bed, Spider-Man's latest adventures held above his head, he exhaled lazily and stretched his arm over to where the distracting device sat on his nightstand. Setting his comic aside for a moment, Damian glanced at the screen.  

 **_1 new message from: J.K._ ** 

     His heart fluttered in his chest. He’d always prided himself on keeping his circle of trust small; a small circle meant nobody could stab you in the back, though since he’d left the League the chances of that occurring literally had drastically diminished. He’d been slow to add Jon to that circle at first; the kid was raw, untrained, overly emotional, and trailed after him like a lost puppy. But over time, those qualities had somehow sharpened; Jon thought with his gut, outside the box, and possessed a compassion that Damian knew didn’t exist within himself. Still worshiped the ground Damian walked on, though, but lately he’d come to appreciate that far beyond the scope of simple friendship, try as he might to suppress those feelings.  

     It wasn’t an entirely foreign concept,  _l_ _iking_  someone else in a manner slightly beyond platonic. Father and Mother had felt something for each other, long ago, Damian was living proof of that. Father and Selina Kyle, unfathomable though it was. Grayson seemed hung up on some new woman with every flip of the calendar page, and he was the foremost expert on emotional subjects in Damian’s mind. It wasn’t even liking  _boys_ that presented a problem; Father would understand, surely, if he deigned to show interest in Damian’s personal life as he did on occasion. Alfred would be supportive, of course. Grayson would insist on hugging him until his lungs collapsed, though he’d learned to appreciate such gestures the older he grew.  Mother had known female lovers, too, and despite large swaths of the population content to live in spiteful ignorance, Damian was the heir to two great dynasties, and thus beyond the reach of their small minds.  

     He’d always prided himself on his detective skills, but trying to anticipate Jon’s reaction were he to admit to all of this was... _t_ _roubling._  He’d never dare to mention it, not without risking the other boy hearing his change in heartbeat, noticing him sweat and squirm in a manner completely uncharacteristic of, well, himself. Better to keep it professional. Focus on the mission, keep some distance between them until the rush of hormones in his teenaged body stopped betraying him.  

     And yet...  

     Damian swiped his phone unlocked before he could talk himself out of it.  

 **_J: What r u up 2_** ** _rn_ ** **_????_ **  

     He rolled his eyes at the other boy’s butchery of the principles of text messages.  

 **_D: Reading. Why?_ ** 

 **_J:_ ** **_Wanna_ ** **_go 2 county f_** ** _air_** ** _with me?_ ** 

     Damian blinked, confused. Gotham didn’t have a county fair.  

 **_D: Gotham doesn’t have a county fair._ ** 

 **_J: Not Gotham dummy, Hamilton County_ ** 

 **_J: It’ll be_** ** _funnnnnnnn_ ** ****  

     Damian sighed anxiously, biting at his nails. Hamilton County was hours from Gotham, less so at Jon’s top speed, but still far enough away to matter. Alone, with Jon, for hours. Part of him wanted to leap at the chance. The other part wanted to throw up from the stress of it all. Swallowing thickly, Damian quickly replied before he could change his mind.  

 **_D: Can’t today. Homework. Some other time._ ** 

     It was a lie, but it was better. Easier. Jon would understand; he’d be disappointed, maybe a little hurt, questioning why Damian didn’t want to spend time with him. It was for their own good, though. It would keep their friendship alive until Damian could get his head right about everything, and that was the important thing, right?  

 **_J: Too bad. Skip it_ ** 

 **_D: Who the hell are you? You’ve never skipped homework in your entire life._ ** 

 **_J: Not true, besides u don’t get a choice_ ** 

 **_D: Why not?_ ** 

 **_J: Be outside ur house in 5. Get dressed_ ** 

 **_J: No buts_ ** 

 **_J:_ ** **🙂**  

     Damian flopped back on his bed, whining in frustration. Why,  _why_  was the universe determined to kill him at the tender age of 14? Fuck it. He could deal, just for a few hours. Then back home, go out on patrol, beat some criminals senseless, rescue cat from tree, et cetera. No Jon, no thinking about him. Or how soft his hair looked. Or how soft his  _lips_ looked, come to think of it.  

 _“Fuck,”_  Damian whispered, rolling out of bed and heading towards his closet. It was going to be a long day.   

 

* * *

 

     Damian ran a hand through his hair, subconsciously hoping Jon wouldn’t say anything about it while gnawing at his fingernails on his free hand. That really was becoming a bad habit. The haircut was brand new, a subtle act of rebellion; Damian Wayne had walked into the barber shop with slicked backed hair, neat and prim as befitting the son of Gotham’s most powerful man. He’d walked out with a scruffy pompadour, faded on the sides and flowing long on top, flashing a grin to the media vultures who descended any time one of the famously private children of Bruce Wayne was spotted in public. Father had been less than pleased, but Damian called that mission accomplished.  _Notice_  that, _old man._  

     He shoved himself from his delicate perch on his windowsill, landing nimbly in the garden just as he saw the speck that could only be Jon descend from the clouds. _Right on time._ Feigning interest in his now bitten-down nails, he felt the air rush around him as Jon landed with a solid impact, careful not to disrupt anything in Alfred’s carefully maintained garden. “You’re late,” he lied casually , glancing up at the other boy with carefully exaggerated annoyance. He felt his jaw drop involuntary as his eyes scanned over Jon.  _“What_...what the hell are you wearing?”  

     “Overalls,” Jon chirped brightly, spinning around to show Damian the entirety of the baggy denim garment. “They’re super comfy, and practical too,” Jon added cheerfully. “Look at all my pockets, Dames. I can carry so much stuff!” He posed to show Damian his various pockets along the legs and the front of the bib, tugging at the hammer loop on the side. “You’re the one who always says fashion should be more practical,” he grinned, pushing his glasses up from his nose. “You look like you’re going to a rave or something.”  

     Damian felt his face redden; he’d spent an embarrassingly long time rifling through his closet, settling on baggy green cargo pants tucked into black combat boots, with a white Garbage t-shirt he’d cut the sleeves off of. He’d grabbed Grayson’s hand-me-down black biker jacket on the way out; it was too big on him, but it made him feel safe and insulated all the same. “I say that because it’s  _true_ ,” Damian shot back, annoyed by how quickly Jon had broken through his carefully prepared defenses that had been meant to last the rest of the day simply by what he was wearing. He’d be lying if he said Jon didn’t look amazing, though; the dark denim of his overalls contrasting with the black and yellow plaid shirt underneath, the worn Chucks on his feet nearly disappearing due to how Jon had cuffed his too-long overalls. “You’re one to talk. Just finished milking the cows out on the pasture?” Damian sniped, worrying belatedly that it was too cruel, too quick, too much of a giveaway. Not that  _you look really good_  was a preferable alternative.  

     “Cows get milked in the barn, silly,” Jon laughed, slugging Damian lightly in the shoulder, sending a crackle of electricity down his spine. “Besides, you can take the boy off the farm, but you can’t take the farm out of the boy,” he said, putting his closed fists against his hips in an exaggerated Superman pose.  

     “I'll have to remember that one _,_ ” Damian muttered, rolling his eyes. “I doubt your classmates would ignore the presence of Old Mcfucking Donald in their midst,” he continued.  _And I’d break their faces one by one if they said anything._  

 _“Tt,”_ Jon parroted, a little tic he picked up from time to time to tease Damian. “You care too much about what others think, you’ll never be happy, D,” he said, slinging an arm around his shoulder to walk him out of the garden.  Damian hoped his pounding heart didn’t sound like a dull roar to the half-Kryptonian boy. “Besides, I kinda like this look,” he said, tugging playfully at one of his overall straps. “Maybe I’ll add it to my costume,” Jon grinned, a twinkle in his eye that meant he was only half joking.  

     “Kill me,” Damian muttered as they reached the gates the enclosed the manor. “Are we going to stand here trading banter all day, or are you taking me to this hickville fair you love so much?”  

     “Zeta Tube’s in the city,” Jon replied. “Unless you wanted to use the one in the Cave...” he continued, grinning.  

     “I never should’ve told you that,” Damian growled, disentangling himself from Jon’s slender arm, somewhat reluctantly. The physical contact made his skin feel like it was on fire. He glanced around, on the off chance anyone was watching, then wrapped his arms around Jon’s slender waist from behind. “Let’s just get this over with,” he sighed, glad Jon couldn’t see how red his face was.  

     “Hang on tight,” Jon said, like he said every time they did this, though until recently it hadn’t set Damian’s brain into overdrive with how loaded the statement was. Damian wrapped his arms tighter around Jon as they left the ground; it was a short flight to the Zeta Tube in the alley, but agonizingly long to Damian. Slowly, carefully, he slipped his hands under the bib of Jon’s overalls, ostensibly to get a better grip, feeling the rough denim fabric hiding  _Jon_ underneath his soft flannel. “I won’t let you slip,” Jon said quietly, impossibly quiet over the rush of wind in Damian’s face.  

     “I know,” Damian whispered, half hoping, half dreading in the back of his head that Jon’s enhanced hearing would pick it up. Jon said nothing, though Damian felt him shift slightly under his hands.  _Fuck_ , he should've just stayed in bed.  

 

* * *

 

     Damian shook his head as he watched Jon cram a fourth hot dog into his mouth within the span of an hour. Apparently, Kryptonian puberty included a disgustingly insatiable appetite. Damian felt his fingernails graze along his teeth as he thought about  _other_  things Jon could shove in his mouth if he so desired.  _Get a fucking grip on yourself,_  he chided himself mentally. He’d done well so far; they’d eaten an ungodly amount of fried food, listened to live music, watched Jon stun a crowd as he won one of those rigged test of strength games, sheepishly hefting the hammer with his admittedly scrawny frame. Damian had particularly enjoyed petting the various animals; he’d resolved to ask Father for a pet rabbit, reasoning that it was smaller than a cow or Goliath, and therefore not overly burdensome. The day was winding down, the blue sky slipping into a dusky pink. Part of him didn’t want it to end, now that he was here. He’d actually enjoyed himself, enjoyed Jon’s company unburdened, for the first time in a while. It made him feel horrible inside, that he had something so perfect and simple that he couldn’t seem to help throwing away. All over a childish  _crush_.  

     “You sure you don’t want anything else to eat?” Jon asked, jarring him from his inner torment.  

     “Assuming it hasn’t all vanished down your piehole,” Damian retorted.  

     Jon shrugged, wiping his hands on the front of his overalls. “We still haven’t had funnel cake yet,” he pointed out, strolling from their spot at a picnic table towards a row of gaudy carnival stalls. “Then we  _have_  to watch the fireworks. They’re the best part of the fair every year.”  

     “You’ve really come to this every year?” Damian asked, surprised. It seemed like such a simple thing.  

     “Yep,” Jon replied, something in his eyes that Damian couldn’t quite pinpoint. “Mom and Dad have been taking me since I was a baby. Every year, we come here, just for the day. No capes, no tights. Just the three of us.”  

     Damian was beginning to understand now. “But not this year?” he asked gently.  

     “Dad’s in space. Some border skirmish threatening to spill over somewhere I can’t pronounce. Mom’s in London for work.” Jon shoved his hands in his pockets, trying to play it casual. “It’s not a big deal. I mean, they’re both so busy, and I’m getting older so they trust me to be alone, but...”  

     “But it’s something,” Damian continued.  

     “Yeah,” Jon said quietly. Damian picked anxiously at the pockets of his cargo pants, watching the other boy shuffle along dejectedly. Before he could even think of something comforting to say, Jon spoke up.  

     “I’m sorry I kinda forced you into this,” he said wearily. “I just  _really_  wanted to go, and you’re the closest thing I have to other family.” Damian blinked, stunned. “Like, whatever’s been going on with you and me lately, I get it. I wanted to give you space, I guess, but then I woke up and it was here and...” Silence hung between them, punctuated by shouting children and the noises of game stalls that made Damian’s hair stand on end. He knew, god, he  _knew_  something was up. It was over. Damian would be forced to say it, and Jon would hate him for it, hate him for ruining  _the closest thing I have to other family._  Family didn’t feel that way about each other.  

     “I...” he started, struggling to get the words out. I admire you more than anyone I’ve ever met. I think you’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen. I wish I could be more like you. I wish you could see yourself the way I see you. I wish you could feel the same way I do. I think I might be in love with you.  

     “I’m going to try my luck at the ring toss,” was what came out.  

     Jon blinked slowly. “Oh,” he said, looking crushed. “Um...I just kinda need a minute,” he said, biting his bottom lip. “I’ll wait for you.”  

     Damian wanted to cut his own tongue out with the knife he had tucked in one of his cargo pockets. “Sounds good,” was all he could say, robotically, turning on his heel towards the ring toss stall. Idiot. Fucking idiot. What the hell had he been thinking? Why was having one normal human relationship so impossible for him? Gritting his teeth so hard he thought his jaw might crack, he slapped a dollar bill down on the counter.  

     “All six gets you a prize,” the teenaged girl behind the counter drawled, not looking up from her phone.  

     Without hesitation, Damian grabbed the rings, three in each hand, planted his feet, and let them all fly. Simultaneously, six rings rattled around empty glass bottles with a satisfying  _clink._  The girl blinked up at him, stunned. “The elephant,” he demanded, nodding towards the oversized stuffed animal behind the counter. “The big one.” Wordlessly, the girl handed him the massive plush toy, at least half Damian’s size. Struggling with the stupidly oversized animal, Damian marched determinedly back towards Jon. He was standing with his back to Damian, arms crossed, staring into the sky at something Damian couldn’t see. From behind, Damian grabbed one of his overall straps and roughly spun him around.  

     “What the f-”  

     “Here,” Damian said, thrusting the stuffed elephant at him hard enough to nearly knock him of his balance.  

     “What is this for?” Jon asked, glasses resting crookedly on his nose, the strap Damian had grabbed hanging loosely down his arm.  

     “It’s a gift,” Damian replied firmly. Don't fuck this up. “For you. Gifts make people feel better, as I understand it. Especially stuffed animals. You like them. You have some in your room. Nothing this big. Until now.” Jon just stood there, gawking at him. “You’re welcome,” Damian said, face burning.  

     Jon looked at the elephant, then at Damian, then back to the elephant. “You really got this for me?” he asked in that small voice that meant he was close to getting emotional.  

 _“Tt_. Obviously,” he muttered. “Family’s what you make of it. Who you make it  _with._  It took me a long time to learn that. You helped show me.”  

     “Dami-”  

     “Shut up. I’m not finished. I’m...glad I came today. I feel, I don’t know... _lighter_  when I’m with you. Easier to  _be._  And I haven’t been avoiding you. Not like you think. I just...”  

     “Dami,” Jon sniffed, putting a hand on his shoulder. They were close, in each other’s space. If only they had more time, fewer people, he could explain. “You don’t have to say anything. I know what you mean.”  

     “You do?” Damian asked haltingly, breathing shakily.  

     Jon nodded, eyes glassy. “My turn to give you a gift,” he said, dropping his arm to rest around Damian’s waist. “You have no idea how long I...no idea. I just wanted, I mean, I was afraid that...”  

     “That what?” Damian whispered.  _Please,_  he thought,  _please don’t let me be wrong._  

     Jon leaned in slightly – still taller, but only just – so that their noses could brush together. “That you’d hate me,” he muttered. Damian shuddered involuntarily as their bodies melded, perfectly.  

     “I couldn’t,” Damian breathed, heart bounding in his chest. “I  _wouldn’t. I...”_ He licked his lips, mind racing. Jon’s lips, those perfect pink, soft lips, were so close. “I’d like that gift now.”  

     Jon giggled, a light, airy sound, closing the gap between their mouths. Grayson had talked about  _sparks flying_  before; Damian had always thought it was overwrought bullshit from the mouth of a serial womanizer. Sparks were too small, too insignificant, to describe the feeling of Jon’s lips on his. They pushed back and forth, trying to drag the rush of feeling on as far as possible, oblivious to the other fairgoers walking past them. Finally, Jon pulled back, panting for breath, face as red as one of the fair’s prize tomatoes. “Holy shit,” he gushed, beaming. “That was...I never thought...”  

     “It was quite... _pleasant,_ ” Damian decided, grinning like a fool. He felt like he was floating, like a tornado had whipped through and carried him off somewhere beyond what the eyes could see. The weight off his shoulders was enormous, so much that he felt like he might faint. Unless that was from the lack of oxygen from kissing Jon for so long. In which case, that was acceptable.  

     “Glad to know I’m  _pleasant,_ ” Jon grinned, shoving him lightly. Damian shoved back harder, but Jon’s super strength sent Damian sprawling into his chest, trapped between the rough denim of Jon’s overalls and the softness of the elephant's fur. It was an acceptable place to be. “Shit,” Jon muttered, making Damian look up. “The fireworks. We’re gonna be late. C’mon!” Damian yelped as Jon grabbed him by the hand, sprinting towards a more secluded area.  

     “Where the hell are we going?” Damian demanded.  

     “You’ll see,” Jon smirked, before pushing off from the ground and launching them skyward. Though he’d deny it later, Damian actually shrieked as they sailed through the air, grunting when Jon deposited him on top of a water tower some distance away. It was the tallest structure for miles around, offering a perfect view of the fairground in the distance, as well as the starry, clear sky above.  _Oh._  

     “Be right back,” Jon blurted, giving him a quick peck on the cheek before  _whooshing_  away.  

 _“Tt,”_  Damian said fondly, adjusting his pompadour, only for Jon to come blowing back to their perch a second later.  

     “Back,” her chirped, messy hair all over the place, holding a plate of something. “Funnel cake,” he explained, offering Damian the plate. “Supposed to have powdered sugar on it. Most of it blew off. Might be kinda cold too. Should’ve thought it through more,” he shrugged, plopping down next to Damian, sitting the elephant up on his other side.  

     Damian ripped a piece off and put it in his mouth; it was good, despite being fried garbage. “It’s acceptable,” he allowed, passing the plate back to Jon. The boy still looked a mess, glasses crooked, the remaining overall strap nearly falling off his other shoulder. “You were right, earlier,” Damian continued, removing Jon’s glasses and tucking them gently in the front pocket of his overalls.  

     “About what?” he asked through a mouthful of funnel cake.  

     “Practical,” Damian said, nodding at Jon’s clothes as he tugged the straps back over his shoulders, feeling him beneath them. “If not exactly fashionable, hayseed.”  

     “So that’s a maybe to making this part of my costume?” Jon asked hopefully. “I could add patches.  _So_ many patches.”  

     “We’ll see,” Damian rolled his eyes, though the mental image was certainly...attractive. Father would have a cow.  _Worth it for that alone._   

     “It’s starting,” Jon said eagerly, grabbing Damian’s hand. “I heard it,” he continued, grinning with childish delight. Not a moment later, the first colorful explosion illuminated the sky, sending sparks brighter than any star racing through the blackness. The view was, without a doubt, incredible. “See?” Jon whispered as they gazed up in wonder. “I told you.”  

     “You did,” Damian whispered back, tugging Jon’s chin towards him. “You were right.”  

     “Say it again for the record?” Jon teased.  

     “Not a chance, farmboy,” Damian grinned, pressing their lips together.  

     In the end, neither of them saw much of the fireworks after all.  


End file.
